


Speaking Confidentially

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Addiction, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, M/M, Smoking, Very Unhealthy habits, and reiner loves him, bertl is a dumb genius, chain smoking, terrible coping strategies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-29 00:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7663444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Bertholdt has one hand wrapped around the wrought iron railings, the other propped up in front of his mouth, tendrils of smoke drifting out into the cityscape until they disappear completely.  He’s standing on his tiptoes so that his jeans stretch above his ankles and Reiner can see the tiny dinosaurs on one sock and the purple stripes on the other."</p>
<p>Bertholdt struggles with an important paper and everything falls apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speaking Confidentially

**Author's Note:**

> geez i started work on this like half a year ago i think? i'm posting the first chapter because! reibert week inspired me! there's a lot of talk about smoking in this fic--it's not meant to be pro- or anti-, more a dissection of the way in which bertholdt deals with addiction. i've had a lot of trouble with this fic but i'm determined to ride it out to the end lmao. lemme know what you think!

“Fuck.”

It’s quiet, so quiet that Reiner barely hears it.  He looks up to confirm that the curse did in fact come from his boyfriend, who is sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands, surrounded by empty coffee cups and precariously stacked books.

Reiner sighs.  It’s rare that Bertholdt so much as utters a curse word, let alone with such vehemence.  If he does, then it means Bad News.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, and Bertholdt lets out a little noise of surprise.

“Hmm?” Bertholdt murmurs through his hands.  “Nothing’s wrong.”  His foot kicks sporadically against the table leg.  “I’m just tired.”

“Maybe you should’ve come to bed last night instead of working until it was time for breakfast,” Reiner grouses.  “Where did that get you?”

“Five hundred words closer to meeting this fucking deadline, that’s where, Reiner!”  Bertholdt jumps in his chair as though he’s surprised himself.  He peers shyly through his fingers.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.”

Reiner rolls his eyes.  “It’s fine.  Look, you’ve been awake for at least forty eight hours.  Come take a nap with me?”

“Okay,” Bertholdt sighs.  He stands unsteadily and shuffles his way towards the huge mattress slotted in under the window.  The Hoovers’ old patchwork quilt is strewn across the makeshift bed, and a glass of water sits atop a small stack of photo albums.  Bertholdt collapses onto the mattress and wraps himself up in the quilt so that only his head is visible, hair sticking up easily in tufts.  Reiner knows his boyfriend hasn’t showered in days, too caught up in a dissertation for which the word limit seems to increase every day, but when he lies down next to him, all he can smell is clean sweat and the spice of their apartment that refuses to wash out of their clothes.

He pulls Bertholdt closer to him until they’re completely entangled with each other and breathes in the musky scent of the other’s hair.  He can feel tiny tremors running throughout Bertholdt’s muscles, and every line of him feels tense and stiff.

“Bertl,” Reiner murmurs, cupping a large hand at the back of his boyfriend’s head in a way that he knows makes the other man feel safe.  He touches his lips to Bertholdt’s ear.  “You have to calm down.”

“I have to meet this deadline, Reiner,” Bertholdt breathes out in a rush.  His eyes are squeezed shut.  “I feel sick,” he says suddenly.  He makes a sad noise in the back of his throat and snuggles closer until he is completely engulfed by the quilt and Reiner’s sweater.  “I just want this to be over already, I hate this stupid thing so much and I want to be myself again and I don’t see how I can possibly sleep until I’ve written another seven thousand words even though it should really be ten and I think I waxed poetic about postmodernism for too long even though I _despise_ postmodernism Reiner, I _despise_ it, and—”

“Bertl, _calm down_ ,” Reiner shushes his boyfriend, who whimpers and curls up into a tight little ball.  “I know you hate postmodernism.  You only tell me every minute of every day.  Why you decided to write your dissertation on Baudrillard when you can’t stand the man is beyond me…”

Bertholdt sits up abruptly and throws the quilt off the mattress and onto the floor.  “It’s not _about_ Baudrillard, Reiner!  God, it’s like you never listen to me!”  He slides messily to his feet and grabs his wallet from the kitchen counter, only a matter of steps away from their bed.  “I need a cigarette,” he mutters angrily, and before Reiner can process what’s going on, Bertholdt has already slammed the door to their apartment shut. 

Reiner grabs his phone immediately and hits speed dial.  He lets out a loud groan as the line continues to ring for far longer than he’d like, until finally someone picks up and curtly says, “What?”

“Annie, get over here.  I accused Bertl of writing about some philosopher that he is, well, writing about, and he freaked and said he needed a cigarette, and I am _not_ seeing him go down that road again Annie, you hear me?  No way.”

“Ugh, Reiner, what the hell?” Annie says, and Reiner can hear the sounds of rustling sheets in the background.  He knows Annie works nights at the moment and he knows she’s probably only just gone to sleep and he _knows_ she’s going to kill him, but this is important.

“ _Annie_ ,” he whines.  “You know what he gets like about these kinds of things!  And you _know_ who got him addicted in the first place.”

“Pssh,” Annie grumbles, but he hears her feet hit the floor as she jumps out of bed.  “You know very well that our Bert has a completely addictive personality and a habit of doing anything to get in with a crowd.  If I hadn’t let him bum a cigarette then someone else would’ve.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Reiner says.  “So, are you coming over?  Like, right now?”

“Uh-huh,” Annie says.  She sounds mad.

\---

By the time Annie arrives, Bertholdt has returned from the store, bypassed Reiner completely, and is standing on the balcony chain smoking with his back turned to the French doors.  Reiner hasn’t seen him so stressed in a long time.  In fact, the last time Bertholdt even touched a cigarette was two years ago, when Reiner had a medical scare and his boyfriend became so paranoid that he almost ended up in hospital himself. 

Reiner glances glumly out through the windows again.  Bertholdt has one hand wrapped around the wrought iron railings, the other propped up in front of his mouth, tendrils of smoke drifting out into the cityscape until they disappear completely.  He’s standing on his tiptoes so that his jeans stretch above his ankles and Reiner can see the tiny dinosaurs on one sock and the purple stripes on the other.  He sighs.

“Okay, what the hell is going on?” Annie asks as she comes through the door, dumping a leather jacket and a camouflage backpack on the floor and grabbing a beer from the refrigerator before she even makes eye contact with Reiner.

Reiner indicates the balcony scene with a tilt of his head.  “He’s mad at me.”

Annie frowns.  “He’s mad at himself, idiot.”  She points at the kitchen table, a disaster zone covered in pens and papers and scattered aspirin pills.  “That’s not healthy,” she says.  “He’s spiralling, he knows he’s spiralling, but he doesn’t know how to stop it.  At least not until he’s finished that goddamn paper.”

Reiner groans and closes his eyes.  “I know he’s having a hard time, Annie, but it’s my fault he’s like this now.  He thinks I don’t listen to him, and he’s right!  I can hardly keep up with him when he’s like this!”

Annie rolls her eyes.  “Listen, schmuck, you know very well that you’re just as capable as he is.  No-one can keep up with Bert when he’s fuelled by god knows how many cups of coffee and approximately zero hours of sleep.”  She strides over to the French doors with purpose in her step.  “Now help me get your boyfriend back inside before he freezes his balls off.  You know it’s January, right?  Why aren’t you wearing pants?”

Reiner shrugs.  He doesn’t know what’s going on anymore.

\---

“Annie?” Bertholdt says as soon as she steps onto the balcony.  He sounds scared and sad and slightly off-kilter.  For a second Reiner feels it like a punch to the gut, the realisation that he’s had to call in someone else to help get his boyfriend off the balcony on a cold winter’s day.  When did this become his life?  When did his relationship with Bertholdt become so fraught with tension?

“Bert,” Annie says.  “Put that out and come inside.  I want to talk to you.”  She heads back inside without a spare glance for either of them.  Bertholdt blinks, looks ashamed and frustrated and distraught all at once, but he drops the cigarette and stubs it out with his shoe.  It joins the little mountain of stubs that has formed next to a potted plant.

He follows Annie into the apartment, brushing hands with Reiner on the way in.  Reiner thinks the touch was intentional, and it warms his insides a little.

“Okay, sit the fuck down,” Annie says.  Bertholdt sits at the end of the mattress and rests his chin on his knees, shivering.  “Reiner, you sit too,” Annie says as he closes the French doors.  “And wrap that quilt around your boyfriend.  He’s probably got pneumonia.”

Reiner does as he’s told.

“You,” Annie points at Bertholdt, “stop being an idiot.”  Bertholdt starts to protest, but abruptly stops when he sees the expression on Annie’s face.  “I don’t want to hear it, Bertholdt.  This isn’t healthy.  You know how to take care of yourself, and Reiner shouldn’t have to sit around watching you self-destruct over a paper we all know you’re gonna totally own.  In fact, me and Reiner both got through our college years without fucking up everything good in our lives, you know?”

“Annie—” Reiner starts.  She glares at him.

“No, shut up.  I know it’s different for Bert.  I know he’s expecting a career out of this.  But that doesn’t give him the right to make our lives Hell.  I love you Bert, but this has got to stop.  You can’t keep living on pop tarts and caffeine, and you can’t keep blaming Reiner or me when things go wrong!”

Bertholdt crumples.  “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Oh, shush,” Annie says with a half-smile.  “You’re always sorry.  Now what are you gonna do about it?”

Bertholdt shrugs.  “I don’t know,” he says forlornly.  “I’m stuck.”

“I’m not talking about the goddamn paper,” Annie says.  “What are you going to do about this?”  She picks up an empty pack of cigarettes and throws it at his face. 

“Uh…”

“And what are you gonna do about him?”  She points at Reiner.  “You two have been avoiding this conversation for weeks!  If I didn’t know you’d been basically married for five years then I’d assume you two were nothing more than roommates.”

Reiner winces.  “Okay,” he says, “so we haven’t been _communicating_ as much as we used to—”

Annie scoffs.  “ _Communicating_ my ass.  I bet you haven’t even had sex in over a month.”

Bertholdt makes a pained whining noise as Reiner objects.  “Three weeks!” he says.

“Oh my god,” Annie groans.  “I can’t deal with this on no sleep.  Reiner, get out of here.”

“What?”

“Go, shoo, entertain yourself.  Me and Bert are going to sleep for a good twelve hours and then we’ll sort this shit storm out.”  She turns her attention to Bertholdt, who is staring at her wide-eyed.  “Bert, lie down.  Now.”

Bertholdt lies down.

\---

When Reiner returns (he sits in a movie theatre for eight hours watching three screenings in a row of the new _Star Wars_ movie), the two of them are still asleep.  Annie is almost completely obscured by Bertholdt’s long limbs, wrapped up tight in his arms even as he seems to have shoved his head underneath the pillow and his legs off the edge of the bed completely.

Reiner grins.  The three of them have always been close, but he’d forgotten just how comfortable the two of them were around Annie ever since they’d rented separate apartments, Reiner with Bertholdt and Annie with Mikasa. 

He sneaks a picture on his phone for future reference and slips into the kitchen to make a pot of tea, knowing that Bertholdt will wake up as soon as he senses another presence in the apartment.  He always has been a light sleeper.

\---

Sure enough, he soon hears the patter of light footsteps on linoleum as Bertholdt approaches the kitchen.

“Hey,” the other man croaks, voice low and rough.  “Annie was right.  I feel a little better now.”  He notices the tea and smiles.  “Could I have a cup?”

“Sure thing,” Reiner says.  He hands Bertholdt the tea and looks him over.  The dark circles under his eyes are somehow worse, his skin pallid, but the tremors in his hands have subsided for now, and his eyes are sleepy and warm instead of artificially stimulated.  “You okay?”

“I’m getting there,” Bertholdt says.  “I’m sorry.  I was such an asshole before, oh my god.  I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Yeah, you kinda were,” Reiner grins.  Bertholdt grimaces.  “But that’s okay.  We’re all assholes sometimes.”

“Reiner…” Bertholdt says quietly.  He takes a sip of his tea.  “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” he laughs.  “I thought quitting meant that I’d never want to look at another cigarette in my life, but I just smoked a whole pack and I can feel myself itching for another one.”

“I know, babe,” Reiner murmurs.  He takes Bertholdt’s clammy free hand in his own and squeezes it.  “It’ll be okay.  It’s not the end of the world.  I’m here, and Annie’s here.”

Bertholdt quirks a smile.  “I know,” he says uncertainly.  “I know.”    

Reiner sighs.  He knows Annie has a smoking habit that she can’t seem to kick, but Annie only smokes because she likes it, not because it calms her down or blocks out the rest of the world to an alarming degree.  Reiner knows Bertholdt accepted that first cigarette in senior year because it made the other assholes in their year leave him alone at break and stopped his hands shaking during class.

Honestly, Reiner thinks, Bertholdt smoking wouldn’t be such a big deal, except for the fact that he turns into a complete and utter Asshole whenever he starts up again.  He stops sleeping, stops eating, starts drinking the milk out of the goddamn _carton_ which may be a thing Reiner does but is _so_ not a thing Bertl does.  He’s probably set some sort of record for chain smoking, gets at least three migraines a week, and tends to go on long walks in the middle of the night—which would be fine if their apartment wasn’t situated in the sketchiest part of town.

“You know you gotta get off them as soon as possible, right?”

Bertholdt frowns.

“This is a relapse, Bertl.  You recognise that, yeah?”

“I guess,” the other man says quietly. 

“It’s a relapse,” Reiner repeats.  “And I am not going through another year of you coming home at four in the morning…I get so worried, Bertl.”

“I know,” Bertholdt says quietly.  “Please don’t worry.”

\---  
  
But Reiner does worry, especially when Bertholdt begins to gradually drift away from him, spending more and more time at the library (at least that’s where he says he is) until he’s leaving the apartment the second he wakes up and collapsing into bed as soon as he returns.  Reiner doesn’t see him eat except on the two occasions he witnesses him grab a protein bar from his bag on the way out, and for a solid week most of their conversations are expressed through text and the occasional phone call.  The only solace Reiner finds is in the middle of the night, when, both exhausted, the two of them curl up together and Bertholdt’s body heat and the feel of his back against Reiner’s chest makes everything alright again.  But he can still smell the smoke in the bed sheets no matter how many showers Bertholdt takes, can still taste it on the other man’s breath no matter how much mouthwash he swills.  It reminds him of high school.

Then, on a Friday, Bertholdt comes in smelling more strongly of smoke than ever, as though he’s given up the pretence completely.  He’s wearing a bobble hat Reiner bought him last Christmas, his nose is red, and he’s smiling for the first time in what seems like months.

“I finished it!” he says, producing a stack of papers from his backpack in a dramatic flourish.  “I finished it, Reiner!  It’s done!  I’m free!”  A pack of Marlboros falls to the floor at the same time and Bertholdt studiously ignores it.  “I met with my supervisor and he says it’s good enough for publication, that with a published paper under my belt and the success my seminars have had I’m virtually guaranteed to receive a job offer here!  Isn’t that great?”

“That’s…yeah, that’s great, Bertl.  I’m really happy for you,” Reiner says.  He can hear the lack of enthusiasm in his voice and it hurts him to see the pained look on Bertholdt’s face, but the truth is, he’s mad.  He’s mad that, yet again, Bertholdt’s academic success has taken precedence over the feelings of everyone around him and, most frustratingly, his own physical and mental health.

Bertholdt frowns.  “Are you?  You don’t sound it…”

“I’m sure the paper’s great, Bertl.  And you know I’m proud of you.  But…”

“But what?”  Bertholdt stuffs the papers back into his bag and picks the cigarettes up from the floor as though he’s preparing to leave.

“But I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks, Bertholdt!  You’re never here, you reek of smoke, sometimes I wake up at three in the morning and you’re not in bed!  I have no idea how you’re sustaining yourself when I’m the only one who eats, let alone _buys_ , any groceries,” Reiner pauses and takes a breath.  “Look at you, Bertl.  You’re so thin.  Did you eat anything today?”

Bertholdt shrugs.  He looks as though he’s on the verge of tears.

“You don’t know?”

Bertholdt shrugs again.  His upper lip trembles and his knuckles turn white as he tightens his grip on his bag.  “I’m leaving,” he says, so quiet Reiner barely hears him.

“What?”

“I’m going.  I’m going to—” Bertholdt shudders.  “I’m going to Annie’s.  I’ll be back.  Just wait for me.”

“Bertl, what are you talking about?  When will you be back?  Tonight?”  Reiner can feel his heart hammering hard in his chest.

“Not tonight,” Bertholdt says, and Reiner shivers.  “Soon, though.  I love you, Reiner.”

Before Reiner can say “I love you, too,” Bertholdt has already slammed the door shut, and he’s left standing alone in the kitchen, the scent of stale smoke lingering in the air. 


End file.
